


watched an angel cut the sky

by CrystallizedInsomniac



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Past Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallizedInsomniac/pseuds/CrystallizedInsomniac
Summary: "Stop running away." Satan's eyes are hard, a mix of determination and hurt that has your chest aching for complete different reasons than earlier—panic that's given way to guilt. "Do you hate me?"
Relationships: Main Character/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	watched an angel cut the sky

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from the song **when the flies fell** by **sub urban**.
> 
> I will reiterate to heed the tags before reading, the reader is based on my self-insert mc--however no name, physical characteristics, or specific body descriptions are given, hence why i added the reader-insert tag. i have a very specific plot involving my mc, satan, and belphegor, and thought it'd be nice to write something for it because my art skills aren't good enough for me to illustrate it. hence. words. 
> 
> with that said, this is a very personal fic and deals with the aftermath of sexual assault trauma (it doesn't go into detail), whether you feel like it romanticizes the whole thing is up to personal debate, and my mc's reactions are _personal_ and might not reflect other victim's way of coping, so before you come into my comments screaming for whatever reason, take into consideration that im writing from a personal perspective and sometimes you just need your favorite 2d demon boy to comfort you and call you out on your shit.

**02.**

"We need to talk."

"No we don't." Your eyes flicker away from your reflection for a split second, where you meet Satan's green eyes through the mirror. He's standing in front of your door, looking completely different than he did a couple of nights ago—more composed, less heartbroken... less pathetic, you think.

Not that you fared any better after the fact, so saying he looked pathetic after you panicked and left would be hypocritical of you, given that you've gone out of your way to avoid him for the last seventy-two hours. Belphegor hadn't asked when you had gone to the attic and texted him to meet you there, hadn't said anything when he noticed you shaking and out of it—only able to string a couple of words that amounted to _help me not think about it_.

You're just surprised he decided to finally confront you. Even if it had to happen at the crack of dawn, right before you all had to head to class. A part of you can't help but curse the fact that he cornered you here in your room, where no one would come bother you—not even Mammon, who had learned very early into the year to _never_ come into your bedroom without your permission, or to even wait for you outside. 

You wonder how long it took him to finally decide to confront you.

You also wonder if this is how it's going to end.

Satan's brows are furrowed, a look of determination on his handsome face. You keep the staring contest going for far longer than it should, before he breaks eye contact with you and you notice his green eyes flicker down to your throat. You see the minute he notices the dark bruises around your neck, and you instinctively go to cover them up. Breaking your gaze away from him in the mirror, you go back to looking at yourself in the mirror, carefully applying concealer under your eyes.

You usually don't care about how you look, but last night had been... rough. Your body still aches, which would've been fine—that pleasant buzzing that usually came after, had persisted until earlier this morning when you woke up, even if you felt like you hadn't slept in weeks and your body was beginning to show the effects of it—had Satan not come in and locked the door behind him. 

You're too tired to care about the fact, and surprisingly enough you don't succumb to panic like you thought you might had. Today seems to be a day of firsts.

"What are those." It's not a question, and his voice sounds deeper, vaguely concerned.

"None of your business," you reply, and wince afterwards. You let out a sigh through your nose, before saying; "Why do you keep asking questions to things you already know the answer of."

"I _have_ to. Otherwise you'll keep it yourself."

"Then don't ask. I'm trying to get ready for class, so _please._ "

"I'll walk you to the dining table."

You push down the flicker of irritation that bubbles up. You know he's being patient with you, or as much as he can, honestly, considering the situation. But you're not really ready to talk to him yet, and you can't help but be bitter at the fact that he's stolen this from you—stolen your time to cool down, and apologize, properly, later in the week when you can make sure 100% that you won't break down afterwards, that you won't need to go to Belphegor to help you.

"I wasn't planning on having breakfast," you mutter instead, and begin to pack up all of the makeup—courtesy of Asmodeus—into their respective places. The teal shirt of your school uniform is wrinkled, and the collar does nothing to hide the ugly bruises on your skin. Some days, you can't look at yourself in the mirror, other days, you take a sick fascination in observing them—those days are easy to tell, when you'll walk around the house with a happy spring to your step, those days Belphegor gets to be close to you, closer, and you let him—but today the image in front of you doesn't really elicit any sort of response.

Satan walks further into the room, and because you're sitting down, when he finally gets close enough to you that you're maybe two steps apart, you have to look up at him. "You haven't been coming down to eat for the last couple of days."

"Why are you so worried about me?" You ask, and god, you know you're being an asshole for no reason, when the one hurting here is Satan, and yet you can't help but feel like an animal cornered. All bite and bark.

"You know why." His words are heavy, insinuating to three days ago where he told you he loves you, and you walked away. No explanation, no anything. You know he knows you spent the night with Belphegor, and then the following days too. 

"Well," you begin, turning around to face him, placing your hands on your lap, a picture perfect of composure save for the bitter tone in your voice, and a small tremble in your hands that you can't quite temper down. "that sounds like a you problem."

That seems to do it. Satan's face twists into an ugly scowl, and the fury in his eyes matches the tone of voice when he spits out; " _What_ is your problem?!"

"My problem is the fact that I can't fuck off anywhere without having you or anyone else worried about me! If I tell you I'm fine, then I'm _fine._ " You don't miss the scoff he lets out halfway through your statement, but he doesn't call you on your lie. 

"So I can't care about you anymore, is that it?"

You falter, just a second, but it's enough for Satan. He brings both hands up to his face, rubs it, and then pinches the bridge of his nose before trailing on hand down to his mouth. He looks at you, assessing you from behind his hands. You notice that he realizes you're wearing his school jacket, and his gaze softens briefly. His eyes trail from the bruises on your neck, up towards your face once again, taking notice of the split lip and then of the poorly concealed dark-circles under your eyes.

"You've been avoiding me for three days," The way he says your name makes your heart clench painfully, "it's not the first time, and possibly won't be the last. I understand, and respect your need for some alone time, but you usually give me a reason for doing it. You _walked away from me_ , so I can't help but think that this is my fault."

 _You're not wrong_ , you can't help but think. It's just that it's not for the reasons he believe.

"I just want an explanation," he finally says. And you do, you really owe him an explanation. And yet—

"What do you want me to say, Satan?" Your words come out surprisingly steady, if hissed. "That I freaked out about the fact that you said you love me without any warning? That the last time someone showed any interest in me they _lied_ to me and forced themselves on me? That no matter how many months I go thinking, 'oh, maybe I'm okay', something stupid like someone looking at me for a second too long, or one of your brothers _touching_ me makes me go back to feeling like I deserved that?"

You see it then, the realization of what your words mean. The air crackles with electricity, the air becoming suffocating, and if you weren't too busy shaking and staring right at his eyes—because otherwise you would run away, _again,_ and there's something very relieving about finally letting out your frustrations vocally, to someone you actually trust, and not just trying to make yourself forget about the world for hours on end by having Belphegor help you—you would notice the way his eyes begin to faintly grow, the way his horns are beginning to poke out from his blonde hair.

"Who—"

"—That the only way I can stand myself is when Belphegor treats me like shit? Because I _ask_ him to? Because that? _That_ I can actually control? So excuse me for having to pull myself together the only way I know how, the only way I don't have to involve _you_ in my messy shit, because I'm afraid of you finally realizing first hand just how fucked up I am."

"How was I supposed to know?" Satan sounds... frustrated. And it makes you sneer at him, something like satisfaction at his reaction only fueling that ugly feeling inside of you that thinks, _if you keep pushing then he'll get tired of you and you can go back to dealing with everything yourself, no more involving others to let them see you weak_. 

"You weren't." You reply. "You weren't supposed to know. Because I like to keep my life separate, my trauma doesn't define who I am."

"Oh." He says, and you give him a tight smile, bitter and reflecting how you feel inside—a tight-coiled ball of frustration and anxiety that's been slowly unraveling for the last month or so. A part of you is expecting the pity, the _you didn't deserve that_ that's reflected in his eyes. Satan's gaze has gone softer, and you can't help but recoil from it. You hate it.

He opens his mouth, and you're about to cut him off to say... to say _something_ —when he renders you speechless by saying; "I had my suspicions."

A beat of silence.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" You clench your hands hard, rooted on the spot near your vanity as your nails bite into the palm of your hand, hard enough to cut. 

"First, you're completely mistaken if you think what you're doing is any good. You keep saying that your trauma doesn't define you—and I agree with that—but you're also letting it _control you_. Splitting your life into two is only letting you think that you have complete control of yourself, that you can just tune out the bad if you focus on the good. It doesn't work like that. I've tried, I should know."

"I—"

"You deflect whenever someone pays you a compliment, you hate it when people touch you—even Asmo seems to get it wrong some days—yet you go out of your way to throw yourself at my brothers at any given opportunity. You get uncomfortable when the attention is on yourself, and you've made it very clear in the past that commitment is off the table, effectively shutting down any advances by Mammon and Leviathan whom are known to not be as open to the idea of an open relationship." He says, but all you can hear is a nasty voice in your head that sounds an awful lot like saying _d_ _amaged goods._ "You're scared of commitment, because you're scared of opening yourself up to others because you're scared of being hurt, again."

"Get out." It sounds far away, like a tiny voice barely heard above the ringing in your ears. It's suddenly getting harder to breathe, harder to focus on the demon in front of you. You don't even realize when you had stood up, only when you take a step back, you stumble onto the small stool in front of your vanity, and manage to sit down on it. Hissing when the edge of the vanity digs into your back painfully. The pain is what brings you back, if momentarily.

Satan's lips thin out, but he doesn't move. 

"Satan," you say again and you _think_ you mean it. But you also think you mean a lot of things, like how you also thought you were doing fine and you were okay, and yet here we are. You think, maybe, saying it again will make it seem like you do mean it, that you do want him out of your space and— "Get out."

"No." He takes a step forward, and then stops. Like he's waiting for you to run away from him, like last time. When he sees he can keep going, he moves until he's standing close enough to you that he's able to take one of your hands into his. Then, he kneels down, and looks up at you. "Hear me out?"

You feel the anger slowly leaving your body, like the contact between the two of you was for that same purpose. You eye him warily, remembering a passing comment he had made about hating seeing you angry, a conflicting emotion due to the fact that he also _enjoyed_ seeing his sin being displayed so _beautifully_ in you. 

When a minute passes, and you still haven't given him an answer, you finally relent; "Okay."

He gives you a small, grateful, smile in return. His eyes are intense when he speaks to you, "I was not lying when I told you I love you," he brings your hand closer to his lips and places a single kiss on it. "I was not lying when I said I wanted to spend the rest of my existence by your side, if you let me."

You have to stop yourself from looking away, the embarrassment suffocating, the anxiety slowly building up. You've never been good at this... but you owe it to him. 

"I was not lying when I told you your happiness means so much more to me than you think." He keeps trailing kisses across your knuckles, and then turn your palm over to him, placing a single, scalding hot kiss to the center of your palm, where his pact mark sits. "And I'm not lying when I'm telling you, right now, that I still love you. Flaws and all, you learned to accept me—and that, _that_ doesn't define you. It never will."

"I know."

"So if you can't... if you can't love yourself," Satan's grip on your hand tightens just briefly, and you hear the frustration in his voice there, you don't miss the way the air becomes sadder when you don't correct him, "then I'll do that for you as well, until you can confidently say you're in love with yourself. Because there's a lot there to love, even if you don't see it."

And _damn it_ , you feel like such an ungrateful bastard. The man is pouring his heart out to you, and you're so _lucky_ , but can't manage to fully enjoy it because you have issues. Issues that don't let you take the sentiment of his words to full capacity, but you can... just a bit, and you hold on to that.

"It's... it's going to take some time." You start, and Satan places a single kiss across your knuckles. The hold he has on your hand is warm, and makes you feel safe, which is something you really enjoy about him. How funny, you think, that the embodiment of wrath itself is the only other demon in the whole household that seems to incite such feelings, completely opposite to what you had been warned from him at the very beginning.

"I'll wait, as long as it takes." and there's just something about his wording that leaves no room for hesitance in your mind. You know he means it, and the knowledge of this is both comforting and yet scary. Scary in that way that something like commitment has been for the longest time you can remember. 

Your only comforting thought is that your life span is ridiculously short compared to his, and you would never tell him this, of course—he already has to deal with so much from you, and then himself as well, it almost feels shitty if you were to rub it in his face that you're going to die soon anyways, and that his waiting might be just in vain because this type of hurt just doesn't... it just doesn't disappear. 

So you know, one thing at a time. Just because you did your role as the family's therapist when you first came, doesn't mean that you feel comfortable with sharing all of your problems with Satan—even if he's willing to help. You don't. You can't.

The thought of opening yourself up fully to him is terrifying, makes you want to cry. But then he's also trying, and that? That you can't ignore. You can't ignore the way it makes you feel, past the panic, deep down. Makes you feel like things could be okay, in a future. 

"No." You shake your head softly, "I mean—the... the opening up thing. I know it's just my brain being ridiculous, I know you will never hurt me and I... I _know_ that, but when you tell me you love me I can't—" You cut yourself off, a shaky exhale leaving your lungs.

Satan looks contemplative for a bit, and him having to look up at you as he softly thumbs among the space between your knuckles, makes you realize how much you missed him these last couple of days. 

"You don't have to say it back," Satan says after a little while. You don't know what your face must show, because the serious look on his face softens to something that makes your heart skip a beat, makes your face feel warm. Satan gives you a soft smile, head tilted to the side just barely. "I will admit that I do like showing you off, showing _us_ off. I like it when others know that you're happy because I make you happy."

And it's not like it's anything knew—you figured this is something that happens in relationships, after-all. What's the point of being in love with someone if you can't show everyone around you. For a demon that doesn't hold other people's opinions about him high, Satan does have a certain few exceptions, and even before he first told you he loves you, you could tell by the way he always made sure to hold your hand no matter the place. When he caught on to the fact that you like wearing his jacket, he'd drape it over your shoulders any time you were around, the kisses he'd place on your cheeks and your hands and your forehead.

"It's selfish of me, but I can't help but like it when people know I'm yours, just as much as you are mine." Satan continues, and you don't tell him that the idea of _belonging_ to someone else makes you feel sick. You think, that's a conversation for another day. 

"But—" You want to change the subject, you _need_ to change it. 

"Stop running away." Satan's eyes are hard, a mix of determination and hurt that has your chest aching for complete different reasons than earlier—panic that's given way to guilt. "Do you hate me?"

You don't even hesitate, "No. Never. How could I?"

"I'm glad." Satan nods, and you bite your lip at the way you notice his shoulders sag just a little. Like he was expecting something else from you. It suddenly occurs to you that you've been doing this all wrong. 

You let out a nervous laugh, and Satan raises an eyebrow. You try to pull your hand back, expecting him to resist, but surprisingly, Satan lets go. If he's disappointed by the fact, he makes sure to not show it. "I'm horrible."

Satan opens his mouth to, complain, possibly—but you shake your head, continue; "I do all of this big talking about how 'communication is key' and that being open with others will be better in the long run, but here I am—running away from you, not even _trying_ to open myself up to you."

Something you like about Satan, is his penchant towards being direct, even if at times—like right now—it hurts to hear. So when he says; "That doesn't mean you're a horrible person, but you did hurt me." you can't even will yourself to get defensive.

You know you've hurt him.

You also know he's not the only one you've hurt.

"I'm not going to justify myself, just... I honestly believe you could be with someone that will be able to reciprocate on the same amount. Someone that means it."

"Do you not mean it, then?"

It takes you a second to realize what he's asking, and your throat closes up. You feel your eyes begin to water, but you calm yourself before you start crying, because the thing is, you do _love_ him. Or at least the feelings you have for him might be love, you don't know what that's like, not really. So all of this is just new, and weird and it's too much sometimes. It's different than the love you hold for Asmodeus, whom you have no problem telling you love him every other hour.

"I do. I mean it." You try to show him with your gaze alone just how much he does mean to you, because Satan has become home to you—even if you don't want to admit it out loud, even if you cut the thoughts of what your feelings for him might be, late at night, sometimes lying next to Belphegor _aching_ , because it scares you.

But right here, right now? There's not an ounce of hesitation in you when you reply.

"Then that's enough for me. Like I said, you don't have to be vocal about it—I never expected you to be." Satan stops then, like he's contemplating saying something else. He stands up from the floor, extending his hand out to you, and when you take it he wastes no time in pulling you close to him, encircling his arms around your frame and placing a single kiss at the top of your head.

The tears fall before you can even notice yourself, and before you know it, you're sobbing into his chest, tremors wrecking your body. You're thankful for the fact that Satan doesn't make any comment about it, he just holds you as you cry your eyes out, and then holds you for far longer as you come down from it, maybe ten minutes after, you're not sure. At some point you feel your D.D.D vibrate, and then the sound of a ringtone going off.

Satan lets you know that he's going to reach into your pants pocket, and waits until you nod slowly into his chest, before trailing his hands further down your body. He takes your phone out, and—you assume—texts whoever is trying to reach you. He lets out another sigh, before saying; "Lucifer said we could take the day off today."

You're too tired to ask him what he told the eldest, and the thought of staying home today is more welcome than expected. 

"Okay." You say.

He smells like old books and comfort, and it's not anything new. But now you realize just how much you missed this—the quiet that clouds your minds when you're in his arms, the lack of anxiety and panic that courses through your veins that you can only get from Satan in a way Belphegor hasn't managed to achieve, because you don't let him. _This_ , you think, _this is just for the two of us._

After a bit, Satan moves the two of you towards the bed, and you let him. If you don't think too hard about it, you can pretend that this is just another morning where the two of you are just cuddling, and not the aftermath of a fight. When he lays on the bed on his side, and pulls you so that your front is facing him, you have half-a-mind to tell him that it's going to feel uncomfortable given that the two of you are still wearing your uniforms and haven't taken off your shoes, but then you look up at him and your words die in your throat.

There's just something so _tender_ in the way he looks at you, and your heart clenches again. You fight down the panic, the stupid little thing that makes you uncomfortable over the intimacy, because _that's_ what got you here in the first place. Satan's hand comes up to cup the side of your face, and when his thumb swipes the drying tears away from your cheek, you can't stand the eye contact anymore, and with a shuddering exhale of breath, you close your eyes and scoot closer to him.

You miss the flash of hurt that passes through his eyes, but Satan doesn't say anything, so you don't either.

"I'm not expecting a lot from you," Satan says after a moment of comfortable silence. "I'm a patient demon, I can wait."

You shake your head. "You should though. It'd be unfair from me to not be open, I can... I can work on it."

"I would like that." Even without looking, you can tell that Satan's smiling, appreciation lacing his words when he sighs against you, rubbing circles on the small of your back, hand under the uniform jacket but blocked by the shirt underneath. It's soothing, and you suddenly realize just how tired you are. "But you're not obligated, and if you ever feel like I'm overstepping—"

"—Satan—"

"—Use the pact." He says, and you open your eyes in horror, only to find that there's no hesitation in his eyes nor his face. Not a flicker of uncertainty.

You eye him for a moment, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "Satan... you know I trust you, right?"

"Yes."

"...So... I would never, _never_ use our pact to get you to stop. Because I know you'll listen to me. I don't need... I don't need _that_." You take a heavy breath, and fist your hands onto his uniform, shaking. "Don't ever _imply_ that you won't be able to control yourself. That... it—it scares me."

Satan opens his mouth, but you quickly interrupt him, a pleading look to your eyes that screams _we can talk about this later, please._

"I'm sorry," you say. "For ignoring you, and then all of... _this._ "

Satan seems to consider his next words carefully, and even though the amount of time it takes him to reply _should_ make you feel anxious, you find that you can't even bother. Too focused feeling the calming rhythm of his heart pumping, even through the layers of clothing—you had teased him before about it, saying that he wore his heart on his sleeve by how easy it was to tell how affected he was by things, because of how _loud_ demon's heartbeats seemed to be, but right now it's a source of comfort.

He opens his mouth, ready to speak, when there's soft knocking at the door. You see the irritation manifest in his face, and don't realize you yourself have stiffened, until he tells you to relax. A beat after the knocks, you hear Belphegor's voice from behind the door, calling your name.

It feels like an eternity, two heavy presences on each side of the room, only split apart by a door and some walls, and you—caught in the middle of it. Satan's grip on you tightens, and he pulls you closer, even if it's impossible to do. When he sees you turning your face to say... _something_ , he squeezes your waist. A silent no.

You keep your mouth shut, and after a little bit, the two of you hear Belphegor move away from the door, and down the hall.

"You need to tell him." Satan says, and you look away from him.

"I know."

"I love you," he says and you bite your tongue, make yourself still, shoo away that awful feeling again. You hope you can get used to hearing him say that, soon, for the sake of you two. "But I also love my brother, and he's hurting. You can't keep letting him hurt you like this."

"It's consensual..." you try, a pathetic excuse that sounds even worse once it leaves your lips.

"I don't care what the two of you do inside the privacy of your rooms, I trust you." Satan begins, and the frustration and coldness that you had expected from earlier is present now, protective over his little brother. "But you're hurting him, you're making him believe that he has an opportunity to become more than what he is right now, someone that can help you scratch an itch."

"I—"

Satan says your name. "You're not hurting me, you're not hurting any random demon, you're hurting my little brother."

You bite your lip. "I know."

"You're also hurting yourself." Satan says, and you think, _I know._ Because it's becoming difficult to stop going to Belphegor to have him treat you the way he does when something goes wrong, doesn't matter if small or big. It's becoming increasingly difficult to look at him and see _Belphegor_ and not just some demon that can take you apart and stitch you back together like you want, leaving you feeling like you're outside the immediate reality, the things around you going in fast-motion while you're stuck, there, in perpetual silence. 

And it's not like the two of you haven't talked about it before. It had to happen, at some point. When Belphegor kept trying to get close to you physically, outside the attic. You didn't give him an explanation as to why you were okay with him touching you while he was fucking you, hands around your neck and squeezing hard enough to bruise, the ugly degrading insults that you lapped up like a man thirsty for water in a dessert, but would flinch away from him outside the attic, outside your little meetings.

Partially because you're too much of a coward. Partially because you yourself are not sure.

 _Scared_ _of commitment_ , you can't help but hear Satan's voice ring in your head. Yes, it is true that your relationship with Belphegor is... not the healthiest. The lying, and then him murdering you didn't exactly help things—but he was not the first to make an attempt on your life, just the first one to succeed because of a lack of another person there to defend you.

It was the _clingyness_ that followed that had you freaking out. Belphegor, for all of his faults, is persistent and overbearing when he wants to be. It's no wonder that you had snapped at him, feeling too big and too small at the same time, your head ringing, hands shaking. When he had snarled back at you—you don't remember what you told him, but it had to have been _bad_ if his first reaction wasn't to get sad—, sharp teeth and menacing aura coming from him in waves that threatened to drown you, someone had closed the distance.

Belphegor was not shy to give you what you wanted. And while at first he had shown some restraint and actual concern for some of your requests, he had found that the you post-orgasm was much more amicable to letting him love you, in that soft way that he wanted from the get-go. 

As if reading your thoughts, Satan sighs and says; "but, that can wait. Rest. You need it." 

Before you succumb to slumber, you can't help but think that things won't get better, at least, not right now.

Not like this. 

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah, like i said, personal fic. me just casually airing out my problems to the world via fanfiction. still in a weird mental state, don't know when i'm going to get out of it. this was weird, because i just wrote and im not sure if it makes sense or feels incomplete during some parts? satan might be ooc as fuck and i just, i don't know ??? i'll just shut up now. 
> 
> i guess i should also take this opportunity to thank all 102 of you that user subscribed to me—i really appreciate it, and hopefully i can get back to writing romance fics instead of all of this. ha.
> 
> i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/crystalbases) where i scream about satan and asmodeus 96% of the time, and then the other 4% i share art when i can't write.


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